The Billionaire's Disguise: Rising From The Ashes

Chapter 4 4

Word Count: 634 | Released on: 22/01/2026

ing roads of Westchester. The interior was si

f the Hubbard family portfolio. It was a vast, tangled web o

ed on a

Ace remarked. His voice

e is the heir apparent, sir. Your father has a

A photo of a woman appeared. Sharp features, ice-b

ley. CEO,

ut her rise years ago, even from halfway across the worl

y Ace's prior knowledge. "Their logistics network would complement our

a breeding stallion fo

wer base," Sen countered gently. "Away from

's cold, unyielding expression i

Brittni Ramirez stood in the center of Ace'

e smell of stale pasta hung in

ht her eye. A

, sticky noodles, and pulled out the box. Her heart h

open

odest. But tucked into t

ne who saw me,

f from sliding to the floor. The breath left her lungs in a rush

r phone and dialed

ave dialed is no

nd sharp, pie

er hand. She gasped

s Jef

e was loud, slurring slightly. "The aft

n," she snapped. H

l. Just get

in her hand. A wave of

ce's phone pinged. Sen had

nother photo," Sen said. "He'

holding up a wrist, showing off a Role

e. His lips curled int

ng Medina's office is in. The on

e, sir. What abo

," Ace said. "Cite... profes

as the first emotion he had felt since

a massive, gated driveway. Stone lions sat atop

ad, a gothic fortress of grey

. "The vipers are wait

his cuffs. "L

Chapter End

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The Billionaire's Disguise: Rising From The Ashes

Yuan Xiluo Modern

“I spent two years sweating on construction sites, hauling drywall and mixing cement, just to give Brittni the normal life she said she wanted. On our anniversary, I sat in our dark kitchen with a plate of homemade fettuccine and a one-carat diamond ring I'd saved six months of wages for, waiting for her to come home. Then my phone pinged. An Instagram notification showed Brittni at a luxury rooftop gala, a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice, and a wealthy socialite's hand resting possessively on her waist. She was wearing the expensive red dress I bought her for her birthday-the one she told me was "too fancy" for our simple dinner dates. The caption read, "Back with my queen," and Brittni had replied with a single red heart. Minutes later, she texted me: "Stuck at a late-night board meeting, babe. Don't wait up. Love you!" I looked at the cold, congealed pasta and the jagged scar on my ribs from my time in the special forces, realizing the last two years were nothing but a lie built on her pity and my desperate need for normalcy. I didn't scream or throw my phone. Instead, a strange, predatory calm washed over me-the "Ghost" persona kicking in to shut down the noise of heartbreak and focus on mission parameters. I was done being the "simple builder" who worried about rent while she used me as a placeholder until a "better" man came along. I walked to the closet, pried up a loose floorboard, and pulled out a gold signet ring bearing the Hubbard family crest-the symbol of the multi-billion-dollar empire I had rejected five years ago. I dropped the modest engagement ring into the trash on top of the wasted pasta and dialed a number I had sworn never to call again. "It's time, Harve. I'm coming home." The motorcade was dispatched before I even hung up. As I stepped into a blacked-out Cadillac and watched the $50 million deposit hit my account, I realized how small Brittni's world truly was. She thought she was trading up for a Rolex and a social media tag, but she was about to find out that the man she just ghosted was the heir to the very empire that owned her future.”